Friday couldn’t come fast enough. Not only because Logan was battling some serious sleep deprivation—his new nightly routine consisted of staring at his ceiling, ordering himself not to think about Ellis—but also because as the weekend drew nearer, Logan was forced to admit something to himself. Something horrible. Something terrifying. Something that had the potential to change his life forever.
He missed Ellis.
Looking through their photos together had shaken it loose in his brain, allowing it to tumble down into his consciousness once more. There was a reason why Ellis had once been his best friend. He liked him. He liked spending time with him. He liked Ellis’s taste, and how different they were, and he admired how Ellis lived his life precisely how he wanted to. They weren’t the same people now that they’d been in college, of course, but Logan was eager to find out if there was even a chance they could go back to the way things were.
Minus all the gay shit, of course. Logan still experienced something akin to a full-body nuclear reaction every time he thought about that. But, overall, it seemed Ellis was a bit like smoking. Just when Logan thought the cravings were out of his system, they popped back up again as strong as ever.
He had to wonder what Ellis thought of their reunion. It seemed he’d only tolerated Logan at first because he wanted answers. And now it seemed he was determined to torture him. Why else would he invite Logan to a gay club, of all places? Logan had never been to one before. Rationally, he understood they were just like straight clubs . . . but were they? Was he going to get hit on? Was he going to have to watch Ellis get hit on? That thought made his stomach clench.
And, to make things worse, Ellis didn’t text him all week. Logan sent a few casual messages his way, asking about his day and the like, but Ellis never responded. It made time slow to a newborn’s hesitant crawl, and when five o’clock rolled around on Friday, Logan was a mess of nerves.
He stared at the open file in front of him and lamented all the work he hadn’t done this week. God, he was pathetic, letting himself get all worked up. Ellis probably wanted nothing to do with him. It was obvious he was still angry with him, and Logan couldn’t blame him. Ellis had probably invited him to a gay club in the hopes that Logan would be so uncomfortable, he’d cancel. Well, there was zero chance of that happening. Logan might not know much, but he knew two things from experience: he was not a quitter, and gay guys loved him. He would show Ellis that he wasn’t some douchey straight guy who got spooked at the first flash of rainbow.
Besides, after what he’d done, he owed this to Ellis. Even if it went horribly—even if they discovered they no longer had anything in common—he was going to do this. It was the right thing to do.
As Logan packed up his things, his anxiety ebbed, only to be replaced by determination. The drive home passed in a blur, and before he knew it, he was standing in front of his closet, lamenting—for the first time in his life—that he owned not a stitch of club-appropriate clothing. Ellis hadn’t said anything to him about a dress code, but he assumed he couldn’t show up in street clothes. And Ellis would throttle him if he showed up in a suit. What would Ellis wear? He’d probably rather show up shirtless than wear any of Logan’s clothing.
Oof. That conjured up some images.
Logan ended up settling on black jeans—he was surprised to discover he even owned a pair—and an ice-blue knit button-down. He’d checked the weather earlier, and it was going to be a cold night. He picked out a long black coat and set it on the arm of the sofa, ready to grab on his way out the door.
Satisfied, he checked his watch. It was barely after six thirty. Fuck. He was supposed to meet Ellis at ten. That seemed like years from now. Surely he could kill some time.
He made himself a sandwich, washed his plate and knife, put them away, and wiped down the counters. Then he went into the bathroom and completely redid his hair. The combed-back looked wouldn’t have worked for a club anyway. Now he had a tousled thing going on that he thought Ellis would like. Not that he cared what Ellis thought about his hair.
After that, he brushed his teeth, flossed, and rinsed out his mouth with mouthwash. He tried to watch some TV, but nothing held his focus. When he caught himself staring at the clock on his cable box, which had just rolled over to eight o’clock, he gave up and got out his phone.
Is there any way we could meet earlier?
He hit Send without thinking it through. After, he realized how overeager he sounded, but it was too late now. In a contest between seeming desperate and wriggling right out of his skin, he chose the former.
His phone dinged. He glanced at the screen.
Can’t wait to see me, huh?
Ugh. Ellis couldn’t give him a break, could he?
I’d just like to be home at a reasonable hour. If we don’t meet until 10, I don’t see that happening. Is that okay?
Sure. I’d hate to disrupt your sleep schedule, old man. The Golden Flamingo has a bar next door called the Ruby Slipper. It opens earlier. Meet me there?
Relief washed through him. Sure. When?
I’m there now.
Panic grabbed his relief and punted it across the room. Somehow, knowing that Ellis was waiting for him made the whole thing so much more real.
He forced himself to type back, Great. I’ll be there in fifteen.
He spent one of those fifteen minutes staring at his phone, trying not to picture Ellis hanging out in a gay bar hours before they were supposed to meet. Was he alone? Did he have friends there? Was he secretly an alcoholic?
Logan chided himself for speculating as he got his keys and headed out the door. Ellis worked there. He probably knew everyone, staff and patrons alike. God, Logan was about to be so out of his element.
Like most of the places Ellis had invited him to, the club was located across Route Eighty-seven. This was the most time Logan had spent outside of Brigantine since he’d seen his family at New Year’s. The drive was uneventful, though parking was surprisingly hard to come by. The neighborhood looked like it was some kind of nightlife district, judging by the number of restaurants and bars Logan spotted. As soon as he opened his car door, the hum of talking and laughter reached him. Everywhere he looked, he saw clusters of friends and couples.
The Golden Flamingo stood out from the other nearby establishments, partially because of its neon-pink sign and partially because the crowd in front of it was mostly men. Also, there was the fresco of a flamingo in a sparkling gold suit painted across the front of the two-story building. That was certainly eye-catching.
Logan swallowed hard and trotted up to a small structure stuck onto the side of the club like a barnacle. The Ruby Slipper was much less flashy, he was relieved to say, though the rainbow flags out front were unmistakable. It was packed. It seemed Logan wasn’t the only one who liked to get an early start.
He stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, trying to scan the crowd without actually looking at anyone, before he spotted Ellis on the far side of the bar.
Ellis noticed him at the same time and waved.
Logan hastened over as fast as he could without running. He focused on Ellis in the hopes of avoiding looking at anyone else. It backfired spectacularly when he realized what Ellis was wearing: unreasonably tight jeans and cinnamon-colored shirt that made his eyes stand out even in the soft light. His jacket—which was black and studded and sexy, of course—was slung over one of his thighs, which only served to emphasize that general area of his body. Not that it needed emphasizing, with jeans like that.
Logan made a conscious effort not to stare. “Hey.”
Ellis stood up, throwing his coat over his arm, but thankfully didn’t try to hug him. “You made it.” He flashed his wide, beautiful smile.
Logan’s face was suddenly in danger of burning the whole place down. “Were you waiting long?”
“Nah. I was here anyway. I just finished the day shift, and it didn’t make sense to go home only to come back in time for our . . .” He trailed off, frowning to himself. Logan’s brain silently supplied the missing word: date.
Ellis recovered his smile. “Anyway, can I take your coat?”
“Uh. That’s okay.” Logan slid it off and set it on an empty barstool. Ellis took his coat and placed it on top of Logan’s. Then they both stood there awkwardly, not speaking.
Well, this is going swell.
“I’m surprised at your clothing choice,” Ellis finally said.
Logan blanched. “Is this not appropriate? I wasn’t sure what the dress here was like.”
“No, you did great. This is the most relaxed I’ve seen you. I half expected you to show up in a tuxedo.”
“I don’t own a whole lot of nonwork clothes,” Logan admitted. “I have suits, workout clothes, and what I sleep in.”
Ellis snorted. “I can’t imagine you in a proper set of pajamas. I figured you just slept in a suit, or maybe naked because it’s more efficient or something like that.”
Logan’s mouth went dry. “Too cold for that this time of year.”
Ellis pushed his glasses up his nose and took his seat again. There was a snifter in front of him, which he took a sip from. If Logan had to guess, he’d say it was whiskey. “Anyway, I’m glad you could make it.”
“Me too.” Despite the awkwardness, Logan meant it.
The bartender appeared just then. He looked to be in his forties, but his wardrobe in no way reflected that. He had on skintight leather pants and a neon-pink mesh shirt. Two shiny nipple rings glinted through the porous fabric.
Logan was rendered momentarily speechless. He knew it was horrible and stereotypical, but he’d never seen someone who looked so . . . gay.
“Hey, Roy.” Ellis greeted him as if it were nothing.
“Ellis, darling. So good to see you.” Roy leaned across the bar and kissed Ellis’s cheek. “You working tonight?”
“Nah. I did the door yesterday, so I have the night off.” Ellis waved at him. “This is Logan. He’s never been to the Golden Flamingo before. I thought I’d give him the grand tour.”
Roy glanced at Logan. Logan tried not to visibly stiffen as Roy dragged his eyes up and down his torso before whistling. “Better keep him close, honey. A cute, little, blond thing like that will get snapped up the second you look away.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Was he joking? Logan couldn’t tell. Did he not care that Roy thought they were together?
“We’re just friends,” he blurted out. “We’re . . . old friends. College friends. We, uh, went to school together.”
Roy and Ellis both stared at him before exchanging a look. Logan wondered if there was a single drop of his blood that wasn’t in his face right now.
“Boy, you’ve got your work cut out for you,” Roy whispered loudly to Ellis. Then he eyed Logan. “A drink should loosen you up. What’re you having?”
“Beer,” Logan answered immediately.
“That’s great, sweetheart. Any particular kind?”
“Uh.” Logan’s mind blanked. Shit. He had to know the name of at least one beer, right?
Ellis looked at him askance. “You don’t drink beer, do you?”
Logan shook his head, too embarrassed to speak.
Ellis sighed. “Okay, Chandler. We get it. You’re straight. You can unclench now.” He turned to Roy. “Bring the guy a shot of something. Whatever you think will get him to chill.”
“Tequila it is.” Roy winked and whirled away before Logan could protest.
As soon as he was gone, Ellis rounded on him. “Are you going to act like this all night?”
Logan looked down and fingered the surface of the bar. “Act like what?”
“Like a bro, or rather a poor imitation of one.” Ellis made an exasperated noise. “You don’t need to put on airs for me, okay? Your ass is safe.”
Logan whipped his head toward him. “What?”
“You heard me. Just because we’re in a gay club doesn’t mean you’re going to get hit on. You can stop guarding your ass now. Otherwise, this is going to be a really dull evening.”
Logan hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking a deep breath. “I’m transparent, aren’t I?”
“Pretty much. Though I suppose it might just be because I know you. Or I used to, at least.”
Logan chewed on his lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to act like a bro. I’ve, um, never been to a gay bar before.”
“No shit, Cher-lock.”
Logan started to respond but stopped, not certain that he understood the joke.
“Did I hear that right?” Roy was suddenly right in front of them, looking horrified. “Here, take this. We’re gonna need a lot more where that came from.” He shoved a shot and a lemon wedge into Logan’s hands and scurried off.
Logan looked at the shot and then at Ellis, raising a brow.
“Go for it.” Ellis took a swig of his whiskey as if in solidarity. “Roy won’t steer you wrong. Plus, if this is your first experience in a queer space, it can’t hurt to have a buzz going.”
Logan happened to glance over Ellis’s shoulder at a group of drag queens that had just walked through the door. Every one of them was in some sort of skintight outfit, and there was enough glitter on them to supply a kindergarten class on arts and crafts day. That was all the motivation Logan needed.
“Bottoms up.” He swallowed the shot, paused, and then jammed the lemon into his mouth. He’d forgotten how bitter shots could be. He hadn’t done one since—
“Remember when we used to sneak into that one bar on Tequila Tuesdays?” Ellis tapped his glass with a fingernail. “Can’t think of the name.”
Logan popped the lemon rind out of his mouth. “The Top. We used to go to the Top. For no better reason than they were lax about checking ID.”
Ellis smiled. “You remember?”
“Yeah, which means I must’ve been doing it wrong. With the amount we drank, we probably paid one of their utility bills.”
“Oh, at least. I’m pretty sure there are photos of us on the walls.”
Speaking of photos. Logan twiddled his thumbs and considered his next words carefully. “So, obviously you know I went through your Facebook the other day.”
Ellis didn’t look up from his glass. “I figured that out, yeah.”
“There were some photos of me that I’d never seen before. I was wondering why you never tagged me in them? And, uh, why you kept them all this time?”
Ellis was silent for a moment. He drained the rest of his glass and set it down on the bar next to Logan’s empty shot glass before answering. “I didn’t tag you at the time because the photos weren’t for you, if that makes sense. They were for me. I probably would have shown them to you if we’d kept in touch. As for why I kept them: I don’t really know. I have some idea, but it’s not good bar conversation.”
Logan was just about to argue with him when Roy reappeared. “Here you go.” He plunked two more shots down in front of Logan. “The third one is on the house—my treat—but at some point I do expect you to pay for these.”
“Oh right. Sorry.” Logan fumbled for his wallet.
Ellis held out a hand. “I got it.”
“Really? Why?”
“You didn’t order these. Roy and I are forcing them on you. Granted, it’s for your own good, but it still doesn’t seem fair to make you pay for something you didn’t want. Though if you do finally think of a brand of beer, I expect you to pay for that yourself.”
“Oh. Right.” Logan licked his dry lips. “Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
Logan was hit by a nicotine craving, probably because of the alcohol. He eyed Ellis. “No e-cig tonight?”
“I don’t bring it with me when I’m drinking. I’m never going to quit if I keep the association between alcohol and smoking together, especially since I work at a club.”
“Makes sense.”
Ellis ordered another drink for himself and then settled in. “So, tell me more about this job of yours.”
Logan grinned. “Do you really want to know about it? I work for a big, evil corporation with regular hours and—brace yourself—benefits. Considering the distaste you’ve shown for my suits, I wouldn’t think it would interest you.”
“I asked, didn’t I? I’m curious. I can’t imagine working a nine-to-five.”
Logan picked up the second shot and sniffed it. Bleh. That was a mistake. He swallowed it anyway. “Well, I can’t imagine working a bunch of part-time jobs. We graduated from the same school. Couldn’t you have done something else?” He downed the third shot and coughed hard enough that it took him a minute to notice the murderous look Ellis was giving him. “What?”
“You mean couldn’t I have done something better, right?”
“No.”
Ellis’s look intensified.
“Well . . . not exactly. I just never pictured you doing grunt work. Coffee shops and record stores are where teenagers work after school.” His stomach warmed from the alcohol. He fancied he could actually feel it sliding into his veins.
“Well, I work there around sculpting. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, I guess. I don’t know what I’m trying to say.” Logan was not a lightweight. He’d had three or four glasses of wine earlier that week and hadn’t even flinched. But hard liquor was another story, and his thoughts were already growing fuzzy around the edges.
Roy placed a drink in front of Ellis. Ellis swallowed it—the whole thing—and signaled for another, which was promptly placed in front of him despite a growing number of patrons crowding around the bar.
After, he turned to Logan. “Look, you probably don’t realize how classist you sound right now, so I’m going to break it down for you: you think going to college means you automatically deserve a ‘nice’ job, and you think my patchwork employment is beneath me. Personally, I would rather work somewhere that’s looked down on than become a good little drone like you. I make my own hours, I don’t take my work home with me at the end of the day, and I have time to do the things I really enjoy. If that’s not good enough for you, then that’s your problem.”
“Whoa.” Logan waved his hands in a gesture for peace. “I didn’t mean that. Well, no, I meant the bit about your jobs being beneath you, and that was wrong of me to say, but I just can’t imagine a schedule like yours. I like knowing where I’m going every day and where my next paycheck is coming from. I like stability.”
“And I like knowing that if I decide I hate one of my jobs, I can quit and find another one doing anything I please. You’re probably trying to work your way up the corporate ladder, right?”
Logan shrugged. “No, actually. I’m entry-level at the moment, and once I get a couple of promotions, I plan to stop there. I could go for director of my division, but that doesn’t interest me.”
“Why not?”
“Because just like you, I don’t want to take my work home with me. I like what I do and all, but I don’t want to spend my whole life paying bills only to die. I want to have a life outside of work. It’s admittedly lacking right now, but it’ll be even worse if I take one of those jobs that consumes all my time. I joke about wanting a corner office someday, but in truth, I just want to be happy.”
Logan trailed off. Fuck. That was more than he’d meant to admit. He glanced at Ellis and did a double take. Ellis was staring at him. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
“Did you mean that?”
“More or less, yeah.” Logan rubbed the back of his head. “I guess tequila makes me sentimental.” He waited for the good-natured ribbing he so clearly deserved, but Ellis was silent. He looked like he was thinking hard about something.
Logan took the opportunity to order some water and a glass of wine. By the time they arrived, Ellis seemed to have worked through whatever had given him pause.
“You know, I wasn’t sure what to expect from tonight, but I definitely didn’t expect you to surprise me.”
Before Logan could ask what he meant, a side door he hadn’t noticed burst open. A person in a sparkly sequin leotard announced to the crowd, “Club’s open, my darlings! Come on in. Drag show’s on at eleven.”
Ellis stood up. “We should get in there and claim some seats before it gets too crowded.”
Logan followed suit, grabbing his wine and coat. “Not that I’m an expert on what people do at clubs, but I didn’t think you’d be the sort to hold up the bar.”
“I’m not, but I figured if I asked you to dance, you might fall over.”
Right on cue, Logan stumbled over his own feet. “Dance?”
Ellis burst out laughing, collected his jacket, and entered the club through the side door without waiting to see if Logan was following. Logan scrambled after him, of course. God forbid if they got separated and he had to navigate his first gay club by himself.
They made a brief stop at coat check and then headed into the main room. As Logan trotted behind Ellis, he tried not to gape at the décor. The windows were covered in thick blackout curtains. The only light came from a myriad of overhead fixtures: disco balls, string lights, pink spotlights, and more. Pictures of half-naked men adorned the walls. And everything, absolutely everything, was covered in glitter.
Logan had told himself a hundred times not to stereotype gay clubs, but it seemed this club was more than happy to stereotype itself. Maybe it was a gay-pride thing. Taking back the glitter, so to speak.
“So—” Ellis spread out his arms to encompass the room “—what do you think?”
“This place is . . .” Logan waved a hand as if he could snatch the words out of the air, “colorful.”
“Nice one.” Ellis leaned over the bar and helped himself to a bottle of whiskey and a fresh glass. Logan glanced at the bartender, but she didn’t so much as bat an eye. Damn. Ellis had connections.
Logan took one of the rapidly filling seats. “What do you mean ‘nice one’?”
“That was a joke, right?” Ellis took the seat next to him. “Colorful? Rainbows? I thought you were saying this place is really gay.”
“Ah. That wasn’t my intention. Though now that you mention it, the decorating is a little over-the-top.”
Ellis made a loud, sharp sound that vaguely resembled a laugh. “You can say that again. I don’t think the owners have ever heard the word ‘subtle.’”
Logan chuckled. “Right? I know there aren’t degrees of being gay, but this place is super gay. Like, so gay I almost expected the seats to have dildos glued to them.”
“Hey.” Ellis stabbed a finger at him. “It’s only okay when we say things like that.”
Logan paled. “Oh, wow. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m screwing with you.”
“Um, okay.” Logan took a sip of his wine for lack of anything better to do.
Ellis poured himself some whiskey, clinked their glasses together in a mock cheer, and downed a healthy swallow. He set his glass down and muttered something Logan couldn’t hear over the music.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Ellis sighed. “The alcohol must be kicking in, because I suddenly want to ask you all these things I wouldn’t have before.”
Logan swallowed. “You can ask me things.”
Ellis looked him up and down. “Are you really still insisting that you’re straight?”
“Dude, I am straight. I told you that. Isn’t it, like, problematic, or whatever it is people say, to question someone’s orientation?”
“Probably, but I think it’s more problematic to be so clearly offended by the suggestion that you’re not straight.” Before Logan could protest, Ellis poured more whiskey into his glass and slid it down the bar to Logan. “Here. Drink this. It’s a better sipping alcohol than wine.”
Logan looked from him to it and back again.
“What? Afraid you’ll get the gay on you if we share a glass?” Ellis smiled beatifically.
Logan grumbled something that he would swear later was not “condescending dickhead” and swallowed the drink. He covered his mouth and coughed. “Oh God. What is this? It tastes like charcoal.”
“That’s the peat. When picking a good Scotch, the smokier the better.”
“Maybe to you.” Logan cleared his throat. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to slow down for a while.”
“Can’t hold your liquor?”
“Apparently not.”
Ellis chuckled. “You never could.”
Logan peeked over at him, absently noting the way his thick eyelashes caught the colored light. “How do you remember so much about me from college? I’m struggling to keep up.”
Before Ellis could answer, a short, dark-haired man appeared behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. Ellis turned around, and his face split into a huge grin. “Angel.”
“Hey, babe.” Angel winked at him before leaning in to kiss both of his cheeks. “Wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”
“As if I’d miss Drag Night.” Ellis swiveled in his seat back toward Logan. “Meet my friend.” Logan in no way missed the emphasis. “We went to school together. It’s his first time here.”
“Hi.” Logan stuck his hand out. “I’m Logan.”
“Ooh.” Angel ignored his hand and gave him a once-over. “Yum-my.” To Ellis, he said, “Is he taken?”
“Worse. Closeted.”
“Ugh.” Angel wrinkled his nose. “What a tragedy.”
Logan rolled his eyes. “This tragedy can hear you. And I am not closeted.”
“Really?” Angel leaned close to him, and the sharp smell of his cologne invaded Logan’s nose. “Then would you like to dance?”
Logan squirmed. “Um. I’m—”
“You know,” Ellis interjected, “you can be straight and still dance with another man. So, that’s not really a good excuse.”
Logan glared at him.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Angel sighed. “That’s a shame. El, honey, you better do something about him soon, or someone else is going to show him what he’s missing.”
For the first time in pretty much ever, Ellis was the one who looked uncomfortable. “It’s not like that.”
“Uh-huh. I believe you, hun. Really.”
Logan looked between them. “Am I missing something here?”
“Oh yes,” Angel purred. “I’d say you’re missing out on a great many things, but far be it from me to interfere.”
“You’re not interfering.” Ellis took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Except with your own sad attempts to hook me up with every guy who has a pulse.”
Angel shrugged. “Just trying to help.”
It occurred to Logan—as if through a thick fog—that Angel was talking about them. Him and Ellis. Together. It also occurred to him that he’d had far too much to drink if it had taken him this long to work it out.
“I’m really not gay,” he protested weakly.
Ellis cracked a wry smile. “Now that I can agree with. You’re definitely not gay.”
Logan frowned. He wanted to agree, but he sensed that Ellis wasn’t saying what he thought he was saying.
“Well.” Angel clapped his hands together. “Much as I’d love to stand here and watch you two stare longingly at each other, I could just as easily watch Twilight for that. I’m gonna dance. You guys should do the same. Only sad people sit at the bar all night.”
With that, he disappeared into the growing throng of people undulating on the dance floor.
“Pardon my friend.” Ellis stared after Angel, shaking his head. “He has no boundaries. And believe it or not, it’s even worse when he’s been drinking.”
“We should dance,” Logan blurted out.
Fuck. Where had that come from?
Ellis seemed just as shocked as he was. “What?”
Logan started to back down, only to discover he didn’t want to. “Dance. We should, uh, do that.”
Ellis put his glasses back on and stared at him, his eyes huge and dark in the dim light. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” And, strangely, Logan was. “It’s not a real first-time-at-a-gay-club if I don’t dance, right? I want the full experience. And you can think of this as the perfect revenge. You took me to a gay club and tricked me into making a fool of myself. I’m sure the memory of me flailing around on the floor will last way longer than four years.”
For several piercing seconds, Ellis seemed to be looking right through him, but then he climbed to his feet. “I can’t believe this, but . . . all right. If that’s what you want. Lead the way.”
The second Logan stood up, all the alcohol hit him at once. He grabbed the bar for support and tried to pass it off like he’d stumbled, but Ellis wasn’t buying it.
“Dude, you are wasted. No wonder you wanted to dance.”
“I’m fine. Sure, I can’t hold my liquor as well as I can hold a good cabernet, but I’ll manage. I’m not slurring or anything, right?”
Ellis held up his palms. “All right, Lindsay Lohan, you’re not on trial here. Though for the record, by the power vested in me by the cranky manager of the Golden Flamingo, you are hereby cut off.”
“That’s fine. I’ll sober up on the dance floor.” Logan expected to feel shy or nervous, but to his surprise, raw excitement bubbled up in him. He’d almost say he felt giddy. The music overhead switched to a song he liked, and the last of his reservations melted away.
“Oh, I love this song!” He grabbed Ellis’s arm and dragged him onto the packed floor.
Ellis allowed himself to be towed to the far side of the room, where it was marginally less crowded. “You listen to pop music?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Not me. Not to sound like a snob, but you’d never catch me listening to pop unless there was no other option.”
“Well, try not to let it offend your good taste, because we’re dancing to it whether you like it or not.”
Logan found a spot he liked and closed his eyes, soaking in the beat as if it were warm water washing over him. He swayed in place, feeling the rhythm, finding where he fit into it. He was far, far, from an experienced dancer, but the alcohol was convincing him otherwise. When he opened his eyes again, he found Ellis watching him with a distinctly uncomfortable expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“I, um—” he scratched his head “—I wasn’t expecting you to know what you’re doing. This was supposed to be funny, not . . .”
“Not what?”
“Nothing. Keep doing what you’re doing.”
“You’re not going to join me?”
Ellis licked his lips. “I only know one way to dance, and you wouldn’t like it.”
“Oh? Try me.”
Ellis paused for a beat before he put a hand on Logan’s waist and pulled him close. Logan froze, going rigid from head to toe. From this close, he could count Ellis’s damnably long eyelashes. Hell, he could smell the soap he used: mint and lemon.
Ellis put his mouth to Logan’s ear, presumably to be heard over the music. “Relax. I won’t bite.”
“I am relaxed,” Logan lied. He shivered; mentally, he blamed it on Ellis’s breath tickling his skin when he spoke. “Are you going to move or just stand there?”
“Put your hand on my chest.”
Logan did and instantly regretted it. Ellis was every bit as warm as Logan had thought he’d be, his body firm beneath Logan’s touch. And big. So much bigger than the lanky teen version of him that Logan remembered. A frisson worked its way up Logan’s spine to the base of his skull, making the fine hairs on his nape stand on end. His first instinct was to take a step back and distance himself from the odd sensations trickling through him, but Ellis still had a hand on his waist.
“Move like this.” Ellis’s fingers slid down to Logan’s hip and gripped it. He guided him into a simple rocking motion. It was nothing special—hell, it didn’t even match the tempo of the music—but with the alcohol and the lights and Ellis standing so close . . .
Logan was as breathless as if they’d been dancing for hours. God, when Ellis matched his rhythm and started moving with him, it was suddenly way, way too much. He exhaled for what felt like the first time in minutes. To his embarrassment, a sound escaped from him as well. He didn’t dare call it a moan. Suddenly, he was ten degrees warmer than he’d been before.
It’s all the people nearby, and having Ellis so close. The room is heating up, not you.
His mental voice didn’t sound very convincing.
What do you expect? You’re semi-grinding on a guy right after you claimed to be straight. Being convincing doesn’t appear to be high on your list of priorities.
Jesus. That put things into perspective. What was he doing? And, more importantly, why was he so okay with it?
Because this is Ellis. He has always been the exception.
“You okay?” Ellis scrutinized him from inches away. It was agonizingly intense.
Logan looked down at the ground, which only served to give him an up-close view of their bodies moving together. He swallowed and forced his eyes back up. “Yeah. I just, um, feel kinda off.”
“Yeah, me too. We both had too much, I think. We’ll grab some water when this song is over.”
Silence fell between them. Logan couldn’t explain it, but there was a feeling building up in him. He breathed it in along with Ellis’s soap scent; it filled him like air inside a balloon. He tried to put a name to it and came up blank. It was like electricity and nausea mixed together.
“Remember that one time we danced together?” Ellis smiled. “It’s okay if you don’t.”
“Um.” Logan thought hard. “Was it . . . in your studio the day after midterms? You were trying to get me into jazz. You put on Billie Holiday and very nearly succeeded.”
Ellis nodded. “That was the time, yeah. I’m flattered you remember.”
Logan flexed his fingers on Ellis’s chest. “Of course I do.”
They quieted again. Ellis’s brow was puckered, as if he was deep in thought.
A moment later he said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I . . . Look, I’m not trying to pry or anything, but there’s something that’s been bugging me.”
“Yeah?”
“You say you’re straight, right?”
Logan fought the urge to fidget. For some reason, hearing Ellis say that made him uncomfortable. “Uh-huh.”
“So, you’re not attracted to men at all, then?”
Logan’s heart had already been doing its best impression of a jackhammer, but now it could level a city block. “I guess that’s what being straight means, huh?”
“Sort of, yeah.”
That didn’t sound right at all. Logan wondered if tequila had some sort of scrambling effect on the brain, because suddenly his concept of straight seemed foreign to him. It definitely didn’t sound like what he felt for Ellis.
Ellis continued, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “I was just thinking, if you really stand behind that, then all those times we were together . . . you know, when we kissed and fooled around and all, that would mean you didn’t find me attractive. You were just fucking around, as you put it.”
Ellis paused as if waiting for a response. Logan nodded, too miserable to speak.
Ellis took a breath that Logan swore was pulled from his own lungs. “Did you mean that? I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable, but I need to know. Were you attracted to me back then? Or were you just ‘experimenting’ like you keep saying.”
Logan’s gaze waffled between Ellis’s beautiful eyes and his tense expression. He looked like he was preparing himself for a physical blow. Logan had never seen anyone look so beautiful and sad.
The truth tumbled out of him as if he were a cabinet that had been stuffed too full for far too long. “I wasn’t just fucking around. I was attracted to you. Really attracted to you. More than any of the other guys I did stuff with. You’re the reason I have that joke. The one about being ninety-five percent straight. You were my exception.”
Ellis’s eyes widened. “Logan . . .” He hesitated. “Are you still attracted to me?”
Logan didn’t answer. Something hit him square in the gut, like an icy fist, and suddenly he understood what the feeling that had been welling up in him all night was: longing. Longing for what they’d had. Longing for what he’d thrown away. And nostalgia too.
He breathed in Ellis’s scent, and it hurtled him back in time. He was nineteen again and helplessly, hopelessly infatuated with his best friend. He was scared and confused and so filled with want, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He wanted the past four years back. He wanted all the things Ellis could make him feel just by being with him, touching him, kissing him—
Kissing him. That was all Logan had wanted to do since they’d run into each other in the parking lot of that fucking Starbucks.
Shit. How had he managed to deny it all this time? Logan wasn’t sure what the catalyst was—the alcohol, the music, touching Ellis—but his walls were coming down in a big way. And why shouldn’t they? He could no longer remember why he’d fought this so hard.
“Something wrong?” Ellis looked adorably confused.
God, how had Logan ever, ever pretended he didn’t want this man? He wanted him with everything he had. He couldn’t lose another minute. He grabbed Ellis’s face and cradled it in both hands.
“Whoa, what are you—” was all Ellis managed to get out before Logan pressed their lips together. Hard.
For three seconds, Logan was in heaven. Warm, plush, whiskey-flavored heaven.
Then two large hands found his shoulders and shoved him back. He toppled over, but thankfully he crashed against a support beam just before he would have gone sprawling.
It took a moment for him to gather himself enough to look up. “What . . .”
His question died in his throat. Ellis’s face was twisted with rage and disbelief. “Logan, what the fuck?”